“Don’t ask for names when you pay in cash.” He slammed my change on the counter, the key to my room on top of it. “If you see him tell him he owes me forty bucks for the dirty movies he ordered on my account.”
“Your account?” I tucked the bills back into my wallet.
“Sonuvabitch hacked my wifi.”
I froze with his last word.
Clasping the key in my hand, I backed away from the counter, waving once at the man.
He waved me off, lifting a stack of newspapers off of the desk as he grumbled something I couldn’t hear.
It was the familiar face on the front page that caught my eye.
“You son of a rotten mother fu—”
The man’s face twisted as I advanced on him.
“Can I have that newspaper?” I seethed.
“This? Not supposed to sell it, it’s a day old. Never got today’s paper though, so I figured—”
“I don’t care about that,” I tore one of the papers from his hands, unfolding it quickly. It was an article about someone running for office. I searched the text for Tav’s name, trying to figure out why he would be on the campaign trail smiling with some politician. I glanced at the grainy black and white image, wondering if I was seeing things again.
“Maybe it’s not him.”
“Oh that’s him alright.” One fat stub of a finger nailed Tav’s face on the newspaper. “Same asshole that hacked my wifi. Forty bucks, tell him I'll find him if he doesn't pay me.”
I nodded. Yanking the newspaper out from under his hand and backing away again. “I don’t think I know him after all, my eyes are playing tricks.” I stopped at the door, motel room key clutched in my pocket and the ski pole trembling in the other. “Have a good night.”
Thirty-Three
Maine.
What felt like the top of the world was the tiny northern village of Seaport, Maine. I flipped the newspaper in my hands, reading the article again as I sat on the bed. The hotel room was dark with a thin layer of dirt, the bedspread a dark color that could hide any number of horrors. But it was freedom.
And I had some questions.
By the time I reached the bottom of the article I was no closer to understanding why Tav’s face appeared in the crowd on the front of the photo. What I had confirmed was that this particular politician was scheduled for campaign stops all up and down the Maine coast this week, the final stop not far from here in a fishing village further down the coast.
I knew where my first stop out of Seaport would be.
I pulled my phone out of my backpack then, scrolling to the settings in search of the internet. A few protected connections popped up, along with one that was wide open. I attempted to connect to it, and when the bars indicated it had, I pulled out a search engine and typed in the politician’s name: Senator Garrison andAlexandria.
I didn’t remember the exact address on the title from Bud’s cabin, but I wished now I had.
When the search engine failed to load, I half-grinned wondering if Tav had been here, going crazy trying to find a reliable connection. I turned my phone off, tossing it on the nightstand next to me as I imagined calling the first taxi cab company listed in the phone book in the morning.
I had a helluva lot of questions to ask. I pushed my hands into my pockets, emptying the contents and then digging through my rucksack to find the letter from my mom.I have so many regrets.
Alexandria.
Accidents.
Investigators.
Foul play.
Alexandria.
